


Ballroom Lessons

by firelark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5269523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelark/pseuds/firelark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa signs herself up for couples ballroom lessons with Joffrey. What happens when Joffrey doesn't show up and the Hound takes his place? Modern-day AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ballroom Lessons

Sansa laced up her strappy heels and took a few test steps. _A little wobbly but they should work,_ she decided. To be honest, Sansa almost never wore heels, as she was a tall girl herself. In heels, she was almost taller than Joffrey, and she knew that would only make him upset. She hoped that at least today he’d decide to be agreeable.

He had been in one of those rare agreeable moods when she’d asked. They had gone to a secret poker club where he had hit a hot streak and collected a cool 2 million from Dan Bilzerian. On the ride back, he was already well into the celebratory champagne when Sansa broached the topic.

“So Margaery told me about these wonderful dance classes that she took back in high school.” He was grinning widely, so she continued. “They do couples classes, and I thought it’d be really fun.”

“Sure thing, babe. That sounds great.”

“Should I call them for next week?”

“Yeah, you’re the greatest!” he said, wrapping an arm around her and planting a wet kiss on her cheek. Sansa could see the Hound’s visible eyeroll out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t even care. She had been so sure Joffrey would say no. The night had only gotten better from there. Joffrey had told her she was prettiest girl he knew, and insisted on buying her the pair of dance shoes she had picked out online. She had been so excited.

“Hello everyone!” said an elegant man with an accent she couldn’t place. “My name is Syrio Forel, and I will be your dance instructor. Is everyone here?” Sansa looked up at the clock. It was already five past eight and there was no sign of Joffrey. No word from him either, judging from her phone.

“I’m still waiting for my boyfriend,” she called out, a little embarrassed. There were more couples here than she thought there’d be, and they were all waiting for her.

“Well, we’ll give him another five minutes, but then we have to start.” Sansa nodded.

Just then the door opened, and an enormous hulking figure ducked under and stepped through. Everyone looked up, and Sansa was painfully aware of the fact that her entire dance class was staring at Sandor Clegane. Even with his hair combed over the burned side of his face, he was an imposing sight. The room was silent, and Sansa didn’t know what to say. She looked behind him, but to her surprise, he was alone.

“Welcome!” Syrio finally said. “You must be the boyfriend.” He gestured at Sansa who had suddenly gone beet red.

“No, that’s not my boyfriend,” she said quickly, walking over to him. To be honest, Sansa really didn’t know how to define the Hound. Boyfriend’s bodyguard? Boyfriend’s babysitter? Professional grouch? “He’s my boyfriend’s—um, he’s my—he’s my friend.” The instructor blinked. Sansa knew how stupid that sounded. Since when did girls her age befriend giants in their 30s? Sandor was giving her a look, and she was intent on ignoring him because she already knew how he would respond. He always hated her pleasant little lies.

“Well, let’s get started then!” Syrio said, finally breaking the tension. “For our very first dance, we’re going to be doing the cha cha. Now the cha cha is a Cuban dance that’s all about flirtation and fun. ” Sansa wasn’t listening though. She still couldn’t believe the Hound was here alone.

“Where’s Joffrey?” she whispered.

“Decided he had more important things to do,” he said with a shrug. “Or were you actually expecting him to show up?”

Sansa was suddenly reminded of the time that she had had her first drink. First drinks, really. The night had ended with her sprawled out in front of the toilet puking her brains out while the Hound had held her head back with barely-concealed disgust. Joffrey had ditched her an hour before in order to hit up another party they had planned on going to.

 “Stupid little bird,” the Hound had said then. “Drinking more than she can handle.”

He didn’t need to say it now but she could guess what he was thinking. _Stupid little bird_. Of course Joffrey had no interest in coming to dance classes. He had ditched her again, and once again, he had sent the Hound in his place.

Sansa was suddenly woken from her thoughts by a tap on the shoulder. She looked up to find all the other couples lined up together, hands on each other in dance position.

“I think he said something about getting lined up to dance,” she heard from above her.

They walked over to where the other couples stood, and she looked up at him, arms awkwardly hanging in the air.  

“Is this what it’s supposed to look like?” she wondered aloud. Syrio stepped beside them and chuckled.

“Now how are you supposed to dance if you aren’t even touching?”

Sansa and the Hound looked at each other. There was a fierceness in his eyes that dared her to make the first move. _Stupid little bird._ Sansa straightened and decided to rise to the challenge. Stepping forward, she gingerly placed her left hand on his right shoulder and picked up his other hand in hers.

“That’s better,” the instructor said. “Now let me just move these—“ He guided Sansa’s hand further back underneath Sandor’s shoulder and moved their clasped hands further out in the air. “There. Beautiful. Now hold that until I give you the next instructions.”

“How long do we have to fucking stand here like this?” the Hound said, scowling. Sansa didn’t answer. She was suddenly aware of just how close they were standing, closer than she had ever been to him, now that she thought about it. She could look up and count the stubble on his neck. She could feel his breath grazing the top of her hair, and how on earth was he so warm? He also smelled different than what she had imagined. Less like alcohol and more like leather and soap. She hated to admit it, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

“Alright, class. Now we will learn the steps of the cha cha. Ladies, here are your steps. One-two-three-cha-cha-cha-two-three-cha-cha-cha.” Syrio’s movements were fluid and effortless. Sansa longed to move just like that.

“Now gentlemen, we are going to do the reverse of that. Follow along with me please, and ladies, please do the steps I just showed you. One-two-three-cha-cha-cha-two-three-cha-cha-cha-two-three-cha-cha-cha!”

The Hound began moving, slowly at first, and then faster as he realized he was behind the beat. Sansa mainly tried to stay out of his way, but his feet were so big and his movements so heavy that she was rapidly losing that battle. He finally stepped on her big toe, and she yelped, letting go of him.

“Goddamnit,” he swore. “I can’t do this. Should’ve known this was a stupid idea from the start.”

“No, no!” Sansa said, eyes still tearing up from her toe. “No, it doesn’t really hurt. Please, can we just try it again?”

“Don’t fucking lie to me. You don’t want to dance with me, and I don’t belong anywhere near a dance floor. So let’s stop wasting each other’s time, and I’ll go.” He started to pick up his jacket from the side of the room.

“No!,” Sansa said, a little louder than she meant to. “I mean no, I _want_ to dance with you. Please stay.” She looked up at him, hoping he could see the sincerity in her blue eyes. He finally glared at her and dropped his jacket again.

“Don’t make me regret this,” was all he said.

By the end of the class, Sansa was proud of how far they’d come. Sure the steps didn’t come as naturally to him as they did to her, and he was still stumbling whenever Syrio picked a fast song, but he only stepped on her feet two more times, and she at least found that to be an accomplishment.

“A little rough around the edges, but I see so much potential,” Syrio said, patting him on the back at the end of the class. The Hound had looked affronted at that, clearly only hearing the first part, but Sansa took some of the edge off by reminding him that it was only the first class.

“Sure, first class for everyone except for little birds,” he said, before abruptly walking off to retrieve his jacket. It took her a moment to process what he had said. Had he just given her—a compliment? Unless she had hallucinated, it sounded like he was saying she was a good dancer. She was glad he had walked away, because she had no idea how to respond to that.

It wasn’t until she had refilled her water bottle and slipped on her coat that she realized she had forgotten something. She raced downstairs to find the Hound hopping onto his motorcycle.

“Wait! I forgot to ask if you’re coming back next week,” she said, all in one breath. He took his helmet and his earbuds out.

“What?”

“I said, I forgot to ask if you’re coming back next week.” He was looking at her incredulously.

“You _want_ me to come back next week?” His eyes were glued to her face, and she knew he was trying to sniff out any trace of a lie.

“Yes. I do.” She smiled, partly because she hoped it’d make him more likely to say yes and partly because she realized she had never been more honest in her life. She waited, hoping he’d feel it too.

“Okay.”

That was all he said. She watched him silently put his helmet back on and speed off into the night.

 

Sansa decided to stop at Joff’s place afterwards and found him in a haze of smoke.

“Sansa!” he had said, squinting at her workout clothes through his bloodshot eyes. “Did you just come from the gym or something?”

“No, I was at dance class,” she said, biting back annoyance. “You know, the one I signed us up for?”

“You signed us up for a dance class?”

“Yes, I signed us up for a dance class. Didn’t you just send the Hound there? Did you forget already?”

“What are you talking about?” he said. “The Hound has the night off.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s Boros’ shift tonight,” he said, pointing to the guy sitting behind him.

“Oh,” she said. _Oh…._

“The Hound went to your dance class? He really does have no life!” Joffrey said, and the two men burst out laughing.

“He was just trying to be nice, I guess,” Sansa said, trailing off. It sounded ridiculous, even to herself. The Hound being nice? And yet, he had been tonight, in his own way. She tucked that thought away as she went to join Joffrey at the TV, but later that night she found herself wondering about the man who called himself the Hound as she drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> As you can tell, I love ballroom dancing! I danced in college and still miss it. Somehow this popped into my head while I was thinking of ideas for SanSan stories, and this fic emerged. I always imagined Sansa would be an excellent dancer, while Sandor...not so much. But it'll be fun to see where this goes! 
> 
> I'm usually really busy during the school year, so I'm going to try to bang this out during break as fast as I can. There might be some little slip-ups as a result, so I apologize in advance. Thanks for reading!


End file.
